HARD    LABOR 

AND 

OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

JOHN  CARTER 


HARD    LABOR 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

JOHN  CARTER 


NEW  YORK 

THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 
1911 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
THE  BAKER  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 


[  W  • D  >o] 

N  O  H  W  (Ml  II  .  M  A  S  S  •  U  •  S  • 


PS 


TO 
ONE    THAT    TURNED    NOT 


THE  AUTHOR  EXPRESSES  HIS  AC 
KNOWLEDGMENTS  TO  THE  PUBLISHERS 
OF  THE  CENTURY  MAGAZINE,  HARPER'S 
WEEKLY,  THE  BELLMAN,  THE  SMART  SET, 
COSMOPOLITAN  MAGAZINE,  AND  LIPPIN- 
COTTS'  MAGAZINE  FOR  THEIR  COURTESY 
IN  GRANTING  HIM  PERMISSION  TO  IN 
CLUDE  IN  THIS  VOLUME  POEMS  WHICH 
FIRST  APPEARED  IN  THEIR  PAGES. 


CONTENTS 

UNDER  THE  LASH 

PAGE 

HARD  LABOR 3 

CON  SORDINI 11 

BALLADE  OF  MISERY  AND  IRON 15 

BALLADE  OF  TWILIGHT  AND  SILENCE  ....  17 

Lux  E  TENEBRIS 19 

PRISON  SONG 23 

PRISON  SONNET 25 

INTROIT 27 

OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 29 

A  VISION  OF  RELEASE 31 

SHELLEY 35 

A  SEPTIME  OF  DESPAIR 39 

A  ROSE  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 41 

PRISON  SERENADE 43 

To  LOVE  UNCHANGING 45 

As  I  LEAP  FORTH 47 

IN  THE  GREATER  PRISON 

THE  TRAMP'S  TALE 51 

THE  POET  FROM  His  GARRET 57 

DESPAIR  IN  LONDON 59 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

NEW  YORK  NIGHT 63 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FIRSTBORN 65 

BEYOND 67 

A  SONG  FOR  YOUR  BIRTHDAY 69 

SUNSET  ON  THE  DORSET  COAST 71 

BELIEF 73 

FREEDOM 75 


[  viii  ] 


HARD  LABOR 


HARD   LABOR 


I  WORK,  and  as  the  task  is  done  I  brood 
On  what  has  been  and  what  is  yet  to 

pass, 
A  life  spilt  from  an  idly-handled  glass, 

And  days  as  this,  an  endless  multitude. 

Labor  and  brooding  —  is  there  then  no 

rest? 
Day   follows   day,  and   in   the   silent 

nights 

Throng  ghostly  memories  of  past  de 
lights, 

Faces  I  loved,  and  lips  that  I  have  pressed, 
[3] 


HARD  LABOR 

Until  the  sullen,  deep-toned  morning  bell 
Wakes  me  to  face  a  yesterday  again 
With  all  its  bitter  agony  of  pain. 

Thou  didst  not  linger,  Dante,  in  thy  hell. 

They  say  the  torture's  gone,  the  dawn's 

arisen, 
Mercy,    to    angered    hearts    a    suitor 

strange, 
Has  begged  her  own;    yet  this   they 

cannot  change, 
I  have  been  free,  and  I  am  here  in  prison. 


[4] 


HARD  LABOR 

II 

WE   bear   upon   us   different   brands  of 

shame, 
And  some  the  outward  insults  cannot 

brook, 
The  gaoler's  ready  oath,  the  scornful 

look, 

While  others  grieve  in  silence;   yet  the 
same 

Rebellious  thoughts  we  share;  we  hate 

alike 
The  grudging  hand  that  offers  us  its 

dole, 

And  in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  soul 
The   eager    voice,    half -stifled,    whispers 
"strike!" 

A  brave  pretence  we  make  of  merriment, 
Cut-throats  and  thieves,  a  jolly  mur 
derous  crew; 

[5] 


HARD  LABOR 

"The   Devil's   Own    Brigade"          he 

spake  most  true, 

And  here  and  there,   who  knows?   one 
innocent. 

Nay,  we  are  innocent  all,  we  never  stole, 
A  madman  has  condemned  us;  it  may 

be 

We    shall    go   hence   to-morrow,   par 
doned,  free. 
Free  in  the  body,  yes.     But  in  the  soul? 


[6] 


HARD   LABOR 

III 

0  THOU  beloved  of  the  cloud-dark  hair, 
Whose  hands  I  clasp  no  more,  whose 

lips  I  crave, 

0  thou  who  art  so  beautiful  and  brave, 
Avert  thine  eyes ;  look  not  on  my  despair. 

1  have  not  breathed  thy  name  since  first 

this  gate 

Shut,  and  the  wall  upreared  its  frown 
ing  height, 

Unless  some  stealthy  turnkey  in  the 

night 
Has  heard  a  whisper,  sobbing-passionate. 

Four  gaunt  years  have  I  mouldered  in 

this  place, 
Am  I  not  then  repentant  of  my  sin? 

1  know   not,   for   my   heart   is   dead 
within, 

Thou  art  so  far  —  I  cannot  see  thy  face. 
[7] 


HARD  LABOR 

And  yet,  if  thou  hadst  died,  I  had  re 
turned 
To  holy  thoughts  and  long-forgotten 

prayers. 

So  might  thy  God  be  cozened  unawares 
To  yield  a  moment  of  His  heaven  un 
earned. 


HARD  LABOR 

IV 

LABOR   and    brooding,  and    a  shattered 

Grail, 
And  at  the   last  a  few  square  feet  of 

earth, 
What  care  I  for  your  jargon  of  new 

birth? 
To  live  and  strive  again,  again  to  fail? 

The  deadly  sin  atoned,  the  shame  forgot, 
To  rise  triumphant  to  a  Love-God's 

breast 
I   crave  not.     Mine  the  certainty  of 

rest. 
Ruthless  I  lived;  unpitied  let  me  rot. 


[9] 


CON  SORDINI 

THERE  is  but  silence;   yet  in  thought  I 

heard 
The    desperate    chords    of    that    wild 

polonaise, 
The    sixth    of    Chopin's    wizardry,    but 

blurred, 

As  o'er  a  battle-field  a  mournful  haze 
Blots   out   the   dying   from   the   dead 

men's  gaze. 

Why,  all  the  pageantry  of  war  was  there, 
Cannon  and  standard,  ruined  hearth 

ablaze, 

The  muffled  roll  of  death-drum,  trumpet- 
blare, 

And  lonely  women,  mute  in  measureless 
despair. 


HARD  LABOR 

Nay,  this  is  Cornwall;  hear  ye  not  Isold' 

Cry  to  her  lover  in  the  starlit  night? 
Swiftly,  thou  puppet-hero,  seize  and  hold, 
Until  with  blood-red  fire  the  heaven's 

alight. 
Ah !  on  the  morrow,  Tristan,  thou  shalt 

fight; 
Thou  art  foredoomed  to  loneliness  and 

pain. 

Thy  valiant  arm,  invincible  for  right, 
Upraised  in  evil,  conquers  not  again. 
Soon  in  thine  ear  she  pours  full-throated 
song  in  vain. 

The  violins  are  hushed;  a  somber  chord 

Startles  the  dim  cathedral;  tremblingly 
Pure  boyish  voices  supplicate  their  Lord, 
Chanting  a  dirge-like  minor  melody. 
"In  Babylon   we  wept,   remembering 

thee, 

O  Zion"  .  .  .  but  they  know  not  what 
they  sing. 

[12] 


CON   SORDINI 

"Out  of  the  depths,  O  Lord"  ...  but 
they  are  free, 

And  through  their  veins  the  hot  blood, 
rioting, 

Attunes  their  care-free  hearts  to  madri 
gals  of  spring. 

Ye  that  have  tamed  the  wilderness  of 

sound, 
Of  your  proud  minstrelsy  my  share  I 

claim. 

I  have  not,  in  the  darkness  here  fast- 
bound, 
Denied  the  brilliance  of  your  sacred 

flame. 

There  is  no  power  in  agony  or  shame 
To  bar  me  from  the  fire-crowned  heights 

ye  hold. 

In  deepest  silence,  I  may  hear  the  same 
Unearthly  music  that  I  loved  of  old. 
I  crave  no  dole,  who  draw  from  stores  of 
wealth  untold. 

[13] 


BALLADE  OF  MISERY  AND  IRON 

HAGGARD  faces  and  trembling  knees, 
Eyes  that  shine  with  a  weakling's  hate, 

Lips  that  mutter  their  blasphemies, 
Murderous  hearts  that  darkly  wait: 
These  are  they  who  were  men  of  late, 

Fit  to  hold  a  plough  or  a  sword. 

If  a  prayer  this  wall  may  penetrate, 

Have  pity  on  these  my  comrades,  Lord! 

Poets  sing  of  life  at  the  lees 

In  tender  verses  and  delicate; 
Of  tears  and  manifold  agonies  — 

Little  they  know  of  what  they  prate. 

Out  of  this  silence,  passionate 
Sounds  a  deeper,  a  wilder  chord. 

If  a  song  be  heard  through  the  narrow 

grate, 

Have  pity  on  these  my  comrades,  Lord! 
[15] 


HARD  LABOR 

Hark,  that  wail  of  the  distant  breeze, 

Piercing  ever  the  close-barred  gate, 
Fraught  with  torturing  memories 

Of  eyes  that  kindle  and  lips  that  mate. 

Ah,  by  the  loved  ones  desolate 
Whose  anguish  never  can  pen  record, 

If  Thou  be  truly  compassionate, 
Have  pity  on  these  my  comrades,  Lord ! 

L'ENVOI 

These  are  pawns  that  the  hand  of  Fate 
Careless    sweeps    from    the    checker 
board. 

Thou  that  know'st  if  the  game  be  straight, 
Have    pity    on    these    my    comrades, 
Lord! 


16] 


BALLADE    OF    TWILIGHT    AND 
SILENCE 

RUMBLE  and  whir  of  dray  and  car, 

Thousand  feet  on  the  great  highway, 
Torturing  chords  that  throb  and  jar, 

A  restless  melody,  wildly  gay. 

Under  the  lilt  o'  the  tune  they  play, 
The  silent  grief  of  the  city  lies, 

And  menacing-swift,  at  close  of  day, 
The  shadows  fall  and  the  music  dies. 

Deep  in  the  virgin  woods  afar, 

A  thrush  pours  forth  his  soul  to  the 

May, 

And  never  a  hurried  note  shall  mar 
The  ecstasy  of  the  magic  lay. 
In  drowsy  measure  the  branches  sway 
Till  the  sun  burns  low  in  the  cloudless 
skies, 

[17] 


HARD   LABOR 

And  peacefully  upon  leaf  and  spray 
The  shadows  fall,  and  the  music  dies. 

Out  of  the  dark  where  no  songs  are, 

I  that  have  sinned  and  gone  astray, 
Moth-like,  lift  mine  eyes  to  a  star, 

Voicelessly  to  a  far  God  pray. 

See,  from  His  heav'n  in  bright  array 
A  messenger  to  the  dim  cell  flies! 

The  echoes  wake  to  his  singing  —  nay, 
The  shadows  fall  and  the  music  dies. 

I/ENVOI 
O  beloved,  I  know  as  they, 

This  is  the  one  thing  right  and  wise. 
Weep  no  longer,  now  and  for  aye 

The  shadows  fall  and  the  music  dies. 


[18] 


LUX  E  TENEBRIS 

AT  the  day's  end  your  lamp  is  lit, 
And  I  that  wander  am  glad  of  it. 
I  may  not  sip  of  the  glowing  fire 
That    burns    in    your    eyes,    O    Heart's 

Desire. 

But  out  of  the  lantern's  steadfast  gleam 
In  utmost  dark  I  weave  me  a  dream. 

The   line   forms    sullenly;     there   is    no 

sound, 

Save  a  sharp  voice  that  rasps  its  "For 
ward  march!" 
The  shuffling  feet  creep  onward  through 

the  arch; 

Locks  clatter;  and  in  weariness  profound 
Most  sink  unconscious   to   a  dreamless 
sleep, 

[19] 


HARD  LABOR 

While  some  few  through  the  night  long 
vigil  keep. 

With  the  sunrise  your  voice  lifts  clear, 
And  I  that  wander  afar  may  hear. 
Vainly  harps  the  wind  in  the  trees 
That  ever  the  song  accompanies. 
But  out  of  the  harmony  incomplete 
I  weave  an  anthem  of  praise,  my  sweet. 

Ah,  we  that  knew  the  better  from  the 

wrorse 

Our  deeper  guilt  must  pay  a  thousand 
fold. 

In  mourning  garb  come  those  we  loved 
of  old 

And  some  weep  silently ;  but  others  curse. 

"Ye  filled  the  cup;    why  should  ye  not 
then  drink?" 

The  words  are  just;    our  whipped  souls 
can  but  shrink. 

[20] 


LUX  E  TENEBRIS 

But   the   lamp's   alight,   and   the  clear, 

proud  song 

Shall  reach  to  the  throne  of  God  ere  long. 
The  night  must  pass,  and  a  strange,  new 

dawn 

Burst  upon  field  and  copse  and  lawn; 
For  out  of  the  warp  of  shame  and  tears 
I  weave  the  joy  of  the  coming  years. 


[21] 


PRISON  SONG 

THOU  that  hast  cherished  me, 
Thou   of  my  starveling  life  the  nobler 

part, 

From  the  shamed  sorrow  of  thy  Calvary 
Look  up,  dear  heart! 

Dark  is  the  silent  night. 
Yet  do  I  hear  the  restless  winds  afar; 
Lo  in  the  east  the  somber  heaven's  alight, 
Shines  forth  a  star. 

Eagerly  I  crave  life, 
Scorning    the    thousand    shadows    that 

assail. 

Thou  hast  so  armed  me  for  the  utmost 
strife, 

I  dare  not  fail. 

[23] 


PRISON  SONNET 

I  DREAMED  the  woman  who  is  all  my  care 
Had    stretched   her   arms   to    me;     a 

weakling's  tear 
Dropped  to  my  cheek  unbidden;  near, 

so  near 

She  seemed,  I  strove  to  touch  in  my  de 
spair 

The  empress'  coronal  of  night-hued  hair. 
But  anguish  graven  on  her  face  I  read, 
And  in  a  sudden  agony  of  dread 
I  forced  my  lips  to  unaccustomed  prayer: 

"If  Thou  art  God,  despite  my  unbelief, 
Guard  her  who  hath  not  sinned  against 

Thy  word, 

Who  hath  not  mocked  Thee  in  her  deep 
est  grief; 

[25] 


HARD  LABOR 

So  shall  my  mouth  revile  no  more,  O 

Lord!" 
Sleep  veiled  from  me  the  splendor  of  her 

eyes. 
Who  knows  if  it  be  thus  that  He  replies? 


[26] 


INTROIT 

THE  very  blind 

A  noble  heritage  of  song  may  seize, 
A    broad    domain,    wherein    the   uncon- 
quered  mind 

May  rest  at  ease. 

And  we  who  dwell 
Within  the  shadow  that  the  glad  world 

casts, 
Against  our  tyranny  of  shame  rebel 

While  music  lasts. 

Life  hath  no  chain 
Beyond    the   power   of   joyous   song   to 

break. 
Hark !   in  the  mystery  of  the  pure  strain 

God  is  awake. 

[27] 


OUT  OF  THE   DEPTHS 

BEATEN,  blinded  and  maimed, 

Stabbed  with  a  twist  of  the  knife, 

Broken,  branded  and  shamed  — 
Some  of  us  call  it  life. 

Maybe  you  call  it  life, 

Torn  from  all  you  held  dear, 

Out  in  the  light  your  wife, 

And  you  in  the  dark,  you  here. 

Ruled  by  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
Watched  and  bolted  and  barred; 

Maybe  it's  God's  command, 
Some  of  us  call  it  hard. 


[29] 


A  VISION  OF  RELEASE 

WHAT  rarest  hues  enrich  the  dingy  street ! 

What  unimagined  harmonies  arise! 
And  every  beggar-maiden  that  I  meet 
Is  fit  to  grace  a  throne  in  Paradise. 
Ah,  such  a  greeting  laughs  from  lips 

and  eyes, 
It   seems   the   sternest   anchorite   would 

hear 

The  swelling  note  of  joy  that  underlies 
This  chord  of  fellowship;  clear  and  more 

clear 

The  quivering  strings  resound  in  hearts 
that  know  not  fear. 

Yet  is  the  city  wearisome;  I  pass 

Beyond  its  gates  to  where  the  sunlight 

falls 

In  noon-day  brilliancy  on  the  cool  grass, 
[31] 


HARD   LABOR 

And  from  his  hidden  nest  a  bluebird 

calls. 
Comrades   of   yesterday,   within   your 

walls 

Ye  faint  beneath  your  load  of  misery. 
Here  am  I  spouse  of  Nature,  in  whose 

halls 

I  rule  a  revel,  turbulently  free. 
The  pensive  river  smiles;   the  hills  laugh 
back  at  me. 

Hour  upon  hour  I  drink  my  fill  of  this, 
Deep-sunk    in    ecstasy;     till    twilight 

creeps 
Over  the  landscape;  and  the  night-winds 

kiss 
The  trembling   poplar;    and   the  shy 

moon  peeps 
From   the    dark   chamber    where    her 

master  sleeps. 

Poor,  starved  folk  that  have  escaped  the 
chain, 

[32] 


A  VISION  OF  RELEASE 

Ye   know   not   how   the   enfranchised 

spirit  leaps 
To     greet    the    wanderer,    fair     Night, 

again 
Whose  loveliness  outlasts  infinities  of  pain. 

Night,  and  the  surge  and  sweep  of  new 

desire 
That  blots  to  nothingness  the  written 

line. 

At  last  my  eager  footsteps  may  aspire 
To  where  sirocco  mates  with  Apennine. 
Proud  Rome  and  dark  Byzantium  are 

mine 
And     she     who     queens     it     o'er     the 

Cyclades. 
Mohammed   calls   me   to   his   ancient 

shrine, 

Egypt  unveils  her  deepest  mysteries, 
Of  rose  and  nightingale  murmurs  a  Per 
sian  breeze. 


HARD  LABOR 

The    wind-song    fails;     closed    are    the 

temple-gates; 

The  revelry  is  hushed,  the  vision  spent. 
Reluctantly  the  ling'ring  mind  awaits 
New  dawn  and  old,  unchanging  dis 
content. 

"Are  they  indeed  so  spotless-innocent 
Who   draw   away   from   me    their    gar 
ments'  hem? 

If  I  be  slave  of  slaves,  what  punish 
ment 
Shall     an    almighty     God     reserve    for 

them?" 

So  in  my  waking  thought  I  judge,  and  I 
condemn. 


[34] 


SHELLEY 

WE  talked  of  Shelley  far  into  the  night 
Till   the  proud   stars,   his  playmates, 

jealously 
Looked  down  upon  your  eyes  that,  daz- 

zling-bright, 

Would  rob  their  lover  of  his  loyalty. 
I  pray,  if  the  Most  High  may  grant 

one  plea, 

A  fragment  of  that  ecstasy  to  keep. 
The  actual,  breathing  moments  may 

not  be, 

Yet  a  rewarding  harvest  may  I  reap; 
There    is    no    drought    can    parch    the 
shadow-field  of  sleep. 

We  cherished  most  the  tender,  bird-like 
songs; 

[35] 


HARD  LABOR 

Not    ours    to    measure    doomed    Pro 
metheus'  woe, 
Nor   that   sad   maniac's,   who   bore   his 

wrongs 

To  listening  Julian  and  Maddalo. 
Spring  wrakened  love  in  us;   we  could 

not  know 
The    sordid    question    the    long    winter 

brought, 

Whether  to  make  of  misery  a  show, 
Of  shame  a  merchandise,  or  as  we  ought 
To  bear  grief  silently,  the  master-work 
unwrought. 

As  Shelley  wrote  in  heart's  blood,  even  so 
Unnumbered    threnodies    my    pen    in 
dites, 

Of  faithful  love  dishonored  long  ago, 
And   dark   remorse  that  fills  the  age 
long  nights. 

This,  at  the  least,  a  world  of  pain  re 
quites; 

[36] 


SHELLEY 

Though  on  my  pilgrimage  no  sun  may 

shine, 

I  follow  not  the  lure  of  wand'ring  lights, 
But   till,   Samaritan,   your    hand    clasps 

mine, 
I   stagger   feebly   on   to   the   far-distant 

shrine. 


[37] 


A  SEPTIME  OF  DESPAIR 

How  weary  are  the  hours! 

The  long,  long  years  how  slow ! 
Time,  palsied,  scarce  devours 

The  minutes  as  they  go. 
My  cringing  spirit  cowers 

Before  unworshipped  powers. 
Lord!   Must  these  things  be  so? 

How  weary  are  the  hours ! 

The  long,  long  years  how  slow! 
I  mock  your  tales  of  towers, 

Of  heroes  long  ago. 
Spring  scatters  down  her  showers, 

I  reck  not  of  her  flowers. 
Lord!   Must  these  things  be  so? 

How  weary  are  the  hours ! 

The  long,  long  years  how  slow ! 
[39] 


HARD  LABOR 

For,  though  the  dark  sky  lowers 
Above  our  shame,  we  know 

That  there  be  magic  bowers 
That  jessamine  endowers. 

Lord!   Must  these  things  be  so? 

How  weary  are  the  hours ! 

The  long,  long  years  how  slow ! 


[40] 


THEY   have  spilt   the   wine,   they   have 

shattered  the  cup, 
They  have  prisoned  me. 
The  songs  that  I  sang  are  scarce  stored  up 

In  memory. 
But  hither,  where  naught  but  henbane 

grows, 

God  has  sent  me  a  wild,  red  rose 
And  my  heart  is  free. 

Your  love  came  light  as  a  breeze  in  May, 

As  a  raindrop's  patter, 
A  chance  word  dropped  in  an  artless  way 

In  random  chatter. 

But  the  love  that  came  so  light,  my  dear, 
Has  made  of  this  grim  old  prison  here 

A  little  matter. 

[41] 


HARD  LABOR 

Parley  not  with  haggard  Despair 

In  the  lonely  nights; 
Let  him  not  shroud  the  distant  flare 

Of  the  beacon-lights. 
A  few  scant  years  of  shamed  defeat, 
Then  with  your  arms  about  me,  sweet, 

Then  —  to  the  heights ! 


[42] 


PRISON  SERENADE 

THIS  is  the  outer  darkness, 

Hither  shines  never  a  ray. 
Souls  are  deadened  and  damned, 

Lips  have  forgotten  to  pray. 
Out  of  the  silent  shadows 

Comes  the  sound  of  a  lute, 
And,  is  it  sobbing  or  singing? 

Close  the  mouth  of  the  brute. 

"Eyes,  blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  gold, 
Are  they  yet  as  they  were  of  old? 

And  lips  so  red? 

Softly  tread 
Over  the  ashes;  love  is  dead." 

This  is  the  realm  of  silence, 
Speech  is  not,  but  cries, 
[43] 


HARD   LABOR 

Strange  and  dark  and  terrible, 

Out  of  the  stillness  rise. 
Cries,  and  hark !   that  whisper, 

Is  it  speech  or  a  blur? 
"  Have  not  pity  on  me,  O  Lord, 

Lord!   Have  pity  on  her!" 

"Quit  ye  like  men,"  they  tell  us, 

"Whine,  nor  quarrel,  nor  faint; 
So,  our  brothers  in  heaven, 

Ye  shall  be  free  of  taint." 
And  in  the  silent  shadows 

Quivers  the  lute's  soft  chord, 
And  ever  mumbles  the  crime-scarred, 

" Pity  not  me,  O  Lord!" 


[44] 


TO  LOVE  UNCHANGING 

THEY  do  no  evil  to  imprison  me. 

Else  might  I  not  this  faithfulness  revere 
Of  love  that  keeps  no  count  of  day  nor 

year, 

Else  might  I  not  drink  deep  this  ecstasy. 
The  lifting  of  the  cloud  when  I  am  free 
May  light  a  life  new-born,  but  in  her 

eyes 
Who  blessed  the  beauty  of  the  darkened 

skies 
No  more  beloved,  nor  worthier  can  I  be. 

What  wonder  that  I  proudly  hold  my 

head, 

Or  that  I  bear  with  ease  my  little  frets? 
Such  memories  as  these  are  not  regrets, 
[45] 


HARD  LABOR 

They  are  the  ladder's  rungs  that  I  must 

tread. 
In  one  pure  realm,  fair  as  the  maiden 

spring, 
No  malefactor  am  I,  but  a  King. 


[46] 


AS  I  LEAP  FORTH 

As  I  leap  forth 

Into  a  strange,  kind  world,  a  moment  halt 
My   footsteps;     and   the   chance   which 

makes  my  worth 

I  weigh  with  that  mischance  they  call  my 
fault. 

This  joy  that  springs 
From  the  dank  swamp  of  hideous  misery 
I  am  not  worthy;    but  the  gay  thrush 

sings 
Triumphant,  and  the  sun  smiles  down  on 

me. 

Unreal  it  seems, 

Half  ecstasy,  half  weariness  and  pain; 
For  so  I  fear  this  haven  of  my  dreams 
Shall  vanish,  and  the  storm  come  back 
again. 

[47] 


HARD   LABOR 

Past,  it  is  past. 

Before  the  sweep  of  dawn  the  shadows 
flee. 

I,  from  the  heart  of  life  long  since  out 
cast, 

Return,  in  body  as  in  spirit,  free. 


[48] 


IN   THE   GREATER   PRISON 


THE  TRAMP'S  TALE 

IT'S  a  desolate  world  to-night, 
Cold  and  leafless  and  murky  white. 
The  drunken  moon  adrift  in  the  sky 
Hides  and  emerges  fitfully. 
The  wind  to  a  whining  prayer  is  bent, 
A  mendicant's  prayer,  impenitent. 

Dirty  and  torn  to  a  rag, 

My  coat  is  the  thing  I  am, 

A  thing  for  a  decent  man  to  damn. 

My  feet  that  lag 

On  the  twisting  tracks  have  burst 

Through    to    the    knife-keen    air;     and 

thirst 

Wrings  and  maddens  the  soul  of  me. 
[51] 


HARD  LABOR 

Free,  I  said,  free! 
From  the  eternal  monotony  of  the  old 

time, 

The  feeble  slaving  for  a  fool's  reward, 
The  cant  of  folk  "for  ever  with  the  Lord," 
Whose  solemn-folded  hands  are  steeped 

in  slime. 

Free  too  from  those 
Whose   clinging   lips   suck   out   between 

their  kisses 
The  souls  of  men,  who  shower  a  thousand 

woes 

For  every  of  their  petty,  doled  out  blisses, 
And  at  the  last 
Laugh  at  the  starveling  from  their  arms 

outcast. 

So  I  felt  as  I  drifted 

Forth  to  the  road,  and  I  lifted 

My  voice  in  a  measured  song: 

[52] 


THE  TRAMP'S  TALE 

"I  heard  in  the  dusty  town 
The  call  of  the  wanton  June, 
And  straight  over  dale  and  down 
I  followed  the  breathless  tune, 
Till,  past  man's  farthest  abode, 
In  a  region  of  drought  and  dearth, 
I  sought,  by  a  winding  road, 
The  utmost  ends  of  the  earth. 

"And  soon,  in  the  desert  places 

Beyond  the  horizon's  rim, 

The  eager,  sorrowful  faces 

Of  those  I  had  loved  grew  dim. 

But  the  sun  and  the  careless  breeze 

For  the  old  griefs  offered  amends, 

And  the  olden  melodies 

I  sang  to  the  stars,  my  friends. 

;'Yet  Night,  as  a  magic  cup 
Commingled  of  wine  and  tears, 
Hath  memories  treasured  up 
Of  those  our  radiant  years; 
[53] 


HARD   LABOR 

And,  deep  as  the  grave  that  lies 
Between  you  and  my  defeat, 
The  mystery  of  your  eyes 
I  have  not  forgotten,  sweet." 

Truly  a  notable  song,  and  quite  sincere 

As  far  as  it  went; 

Only  they  made  the  truth  appear 

Awkward  and  different. 

A  charming  tale  of  a  girl  is  the  one  they 

tell, 

Of  a  babe  new-born, 
Left  lonely  to  face  the  hell 
Of  the  world's  scorn. 

Free,  I  said,  free! 

And  fate  comes  behind  and  scourges  me, 
Till  I  fling  scarred  hands  to  the  sky,  and 

curse 

The  God  that  made  me  a  something  worse 
Than  His  meanest  brutes,  and  for  all  my 
pains 

[54] 


THE  TRAMP'S  TALE 

Loads  and  galls  me  with  thoughts  for 

chains, 
Black  thoughts  I  am  doomed  for  ever  to 

think  - 

Ah  .  .  .  give  me  drink. 


[55] 


THE  POET  FROM  HIS  GARRET 

ARROGANTLY, 

Above  the  dazzling  city,  darkness-zoned, 
I  look  down  on  the  fools  that  scoff  at  me, 

As  one  enthroned. 

Sadly  the  street 

Its  never-ending  monotone  uplifts. 
Across  the  silent  heavens,  fearing-fleet, 

The  pale  moon  drifts. 

Long,  long  ago 
A   maiden   watched   from   every   storied 

tower, 

And  to  the  meanest  churl  that  sighed 
below 

Might  cast  a  flower. 


[57] 


HARD  LABOR 

Canst  thou  not  see 
My  deep-red  rose  that  lies  beneath  the 

lamp? 

Nay,  o'er  the  luckless  petals,  wantonly 
A  thousand  tramp. 


[58] 


DESPAIR  IN  LONDON 

IT  was  but  yesterday  that  London  seemed 
The  gateway  to  a  kingdom  of  romance, 
Upbuilt  with  mansions  where  no  harm 

might  chance 
The   wanderer,    of   whose   vast   halls   I 

dreamed 

Myself  a  conqueror.     I  little  deemed 
That  in  the  happiness  of  thy  bright 

glance 

Lay  all  my  triumph,  all  the  radiance 
That     on    my    pilgrimage     a    moment 

gleamed. 
To-day  is  sorrow's,  and  the  dull  streets 

moan 

In  sombre  answer  to  my  stifled  cry. 
But    hearing    not,    the    stranger-souls 
throng  by, 

[59] 


HARD   LABOR 

Each  with  his  separate  burden,  forward 

faced 
To  some  dim  goal,  whence  with  relentless 

haste 
Again  to-morrow  he  shall  pass,  unknown. 

Six  barren  years  of  shame,  and  at  the 

last 

An  ecstacy  beyond  my  power  to  sing 
Of  love  supernal,  re-awakening 
Within  my  soul  dim  creeds  long  since  out 
cast. 

What  matter?     They  are  vanished,  over 
past, 
The  raptured  moments  of  our  golden 

spring, 

And  twicefold  grief  is  ours,  remember 
ing 

Their  fulness  through  the  dreary  winter- 
fast. 

O    laughter-laden    Muse,    I    weave    no 
more 

[60] 


DESPAIR  IN  LONDON 

Gay  crowns  of  hyacinth  for  thy  fair 
head, 

The  madrigal  is  still,  to  darkness  sped 
The  lawless  torch  of  fantasy,  whose  light, 
Flaunted  so  lately  in  the  face  of  Night, 

No  ministry  of  labor  may  restore. 

O  sov'ran  city,  'neath  whose  ancient  sway 
Gigantic     empire-forces     strive     and 

strain, 
Hear'st  thou,  amid  the  tumult  of  thy 

pain, 

The  piping  dirge-note  of  the  tune  I  play. 
Ah  no,  the  harsh,  inexorable  gray 

Of  tower  and  tenement  I  search  in  vain, 

No  laurel-garland  weave  I,  but  a  chain 

Whose  galling  links  shall  fetter  me  for 

aye. 
So    that    unshaken    trust    on    which    I 

lean, 

And  all  our  memories,  shall  be  as 
nought. 

[61] 


HARD  LABOR 

No  cross  shall  mark  the  battle  that  we 

fought, 

No  song  commemorate  the  hours  of  gold, 
Only  the  sluggish  river  shall  enfold 

Once    more    to    its    embrace   a   thing 
obscene. 


[62] 


NEW  YORK  NIGHT 

A  SUMMER  day  grows  old, 
And  a  moment  over  the  town 
The  towers  are  aflame  with  gold, 
As  the  sun  goes  down. 

Tired  workers  homeward  throng 
In  an  endless,  hurrying  stream, 
And  folly  awakes  ere  long 
To  its  hour  supreme. 

At  last,  from  square  and  park, 
Like  a  shadow,  the  silence  creeps, 
Cafe  and  saloon  grow  dark, 
And  the  city  sleeps. 

So,  when  life's  tumults  cease, 
May  the  noise  of  the  restless  fight 
Be  merged  in  the  sacred  peace 
Of  a  summer  night. 
[63] 


THE  DEATH  OF  THE  FIRSTBORN 

"  WEEP  not,  beloved;  for  the  all-wise  God, 
That   takes   this   little   life   to   Him 

again, 
Is  yet  all-kind;    His  weary  feet  have 

trod 
The  road  of  pain." 

"He  has  not  borne  the  burden  of  my  grief, 
Else  would  He  not  have  robbed  me  of 

my  son. 

How  can  I  say  of  your  almighty  Thief 
His  will  be  done?" 

"We  may  not  question  Him;    our  babe 

that  sleeps 

Shall  not  the  sorrows  of  the  world 
endure. 

[65] 


HARD  LABOR 

Nay,  let  us  think  Him  merciful,  who 

keeps 
The  lips  so  pure." 

"But  I  could  minister  to  his  despair, 
His  deepest  infamy  I  could  atone. 
There  is  no  prison  that  I  could  not  share 
Save  this  alone." 

;<  Yet  if,  my  sweet,  another  there  shall  be, 
Whose  greedy  lips  shall  hang  upon 

your  breast, 
Will  you  not  then  in  new-found  joy 

agree 
God's  way  is  best?" 

"There  is  no  other  that  can  take  his  place. 
Peace  there  may  be;    but  this  shall 

not  depart; 

Now  and  for  ever  is  my  baby's  face 
Graved  on  my  heart." 


[66] 


BEYOND 

Is  it  as  that  one  said, 
Who  saw  between  our  frank,  desiring  eyes 
Veil  upon  veil  beside  our  power  to  tear? 
Are  we  then  prisoners,  who  may  not  share 
Our  servitude,  until  the  body  lies 
In  its  last  bed? 

Nay,  even  at  the  end 

He  said  we  should  not  know,  but  dream- 

lessly 

Wait  for  a  nothingness,  till,  blotted  out 
From  this  wild  book   wherein  we  read 

but  doubt, 

Our  very  memories  shall  cease  to  be, 
And  cease  to  blend. 

Why  does  he  speak  of  rest? 

As  those  storm-driven  ones  whom  Dante 

hailed 

Amid  the  depths,  better  it  were  to  toss 
[67] 


HARD   LABOR 

Hither  and  thither,  shouldering  a  cross, 
Until  our  clasped  arms  have  flagged  and 

failed, 
Your  lips  have  pressed 

Mine  without  agony, 

And  heart  has  called  no  more  to  answ'ring 

heart. 

Ah,  we  are  slaves,  entangled  by  a  lure 
Of  fate,  and  bound  together  to  endure 
The  eternal  fool's-parade  of  life  and  art 
Unchangingly. 

I  will  not  have  it  so, 

There  is  no  veil  shall  hide  your  soul  from 

mine. 
From  star  to  star,  onward  and  upward 

borne; 
We  shall  but  laugh  death's  menaces  to 

scorn, 

Seeking  at  last  what  else  may  be  divine, 
Save  that  we  know. 

[68] 


A  SONG  FOR  YOUR  BIRTHDAY 

LIGHT  words  spring  from  thy  lips, 

As  I  listen  and  dream, 
Like  the  rustle  of  fairy  ships 

On  a  fairy  stream. 

Proud  looks  flash  from  thine  eyes, 

So  proud,  my  sweet, 
The  shadow  of  evil  lies 

Dead  at  thy  feet. 

Thy  soul  is  a  sheltered  close, 

In  whose  twilight  deeps 
Full  many  a  wild  wood-rose 

Blossoms  and  sleeps. 

Beloved,  through  whom  I  guess 

At  a  light  divine, 
Passionate,  measureless, 
Thy  heart  is  mine. 
[69] 


SUNSET   ON    THE    DORSET 
COAST 

A  FINE  rain  drips  on  the  sluggish  sea 

And  the  barren  down, 
The  mist  enshrouds  with  its  panoply 

The  dreary  town, 
And  far  aloft  in  a  settled  gloom, 
Vast  sentinels  of  decay  and  doom, 

The  dull  cliffs  frown. 

In  a  cold  embrace  the  shadows  fall 

On  the  ocean's  breast, 
Bitter  the  pain  of  the  gull's  harsh  call 

Winged  to  its  nest. 
But  ere  the  tyrannous  hand  of  Night 
Can  grasp  Day's  sceptre,  a  sudden  light 

Startles  the  wrest. 

[71] 


HARD   LABOR 

The  storm-clouds  quiver  and  gleam  and 
flare, 

As  the  dying  sun 
With  gold  and  crimson,  radiant-rare, 

Tints  one  by  one; 

And  clear  to  the  ocean's  farthest  line, 
A  web  of  fire  as  gossamer  fine 

The  Master  has  spun. 

Slowly  the  splendor  wanes  and  dies, 

While  the  dark  cliffs  stand 
As  naked  truth  a  mirage  of  lies 

Born  to  command; 
Till  the  moon  in  elfin  ecstasy 
Tips  with  a  glamor  of  faery 

The  desolate  strand. 


[72] 


BELIEF 

THERE  is  a  God  above  the  tenement 
Who  knows  its  misery,  but  gives  no 

sign; 

A  holy  Spirit,  puissant,  divine, 
Yet  is  the  sword  sheathed  and  the  gold 

unspent. 

I,  that  would  be  with  little  gods  content, 
I,  that  have  worshipped  at  a  mortal 

shrine, 

Under  such  weight  of  mystery  am  bent, 
Nor  may  belief  nor  faith  in  Him  be 
mine. 

O  friend,  it  is  not  granted  me  to  trust 
In  One  all-powerful,  but  this  I  know: 

Our  souls  that  'mid  this  sea  of  life  and  lust 
Are  derelicts  the  winds  toss  to  and  fro, 

Beyond  the  confines  of  the  charted  seas 

In  a  fair  anchorage  might  ride  at  ease. 
[73] 


FREEDOM 

I 

I  WILL  go  back  to  those  for  whom  I  cried, 
Outcasts   and  thieves   and   slayers  of 

their  kind, 

I  will  go  back  with  a  contented  mind, 
For  there,  in  bondage,  may  rich  truth 

abide. 

There,  at  the  least,  is  hate  not  deified, 
And  those  I  welcomed  as  my  friends 

were  free 

Of  that  inexpiable  infamy 
By   whose   dread    weight   o'erburdened, 
Ferrer  died. 

No  need  have  I  of  joy,  no  fear  of  pain, 
There,  in  the  stillness,  none  may  chain 
my  thought. 

[75] 


HARD  LABOR 

Your  trivial  liberty,  so  dearly  bought, 
Freely  and  gladly  I  give  back  again. 
I  pray  you,  comrades,  open  wide  your 

gate, 
Nay,  pity  not,  I  was  with  you  of  late. 


[76] 


FREEDOM 

II 

INTO  the  gray  world  whither  I  return 
Few  wander  who  may  voice  its  mys 
tery. 

One  jester-priest  there  was,  who  curi 
ously 

Strove  the  calm  face  of  Sorrow  to  dis 
cern, 
Dropping  her  tears  upon  the  gruesome 

urn. 
He  knew,  who  sang  of  Reading,  all  that 

lies 

Behind  the  watchful  penetrative  eyes 
Of  these  my  friends,  save  that  he  could 

not  learn; 
For,  as  bare  hillsides  through  an  evening 

mist 

Are   robed   in   dreams,   so   that   firm- 
bolted  grate, 

Through  which  he  could  but  gaze  dis 
consolate, 

[77] 


HARD   LABOR 

Seems  but  a  lattice  where  Delight  keeps 

tryst, 
And  they  whose  sins  ye  think  beyond  all 

cure 
To  me  are  holy,  in  that  they  endure. 


[78] 


FREEDOM 

III 

AH  no,  I  may  not  seek,  beloved,  there 
My  haven;   lest  thine  arms  around  me 

twine 
No  longer,  and  thy  lips,  that  breathe 

on  mine 

Triumphantly,  pale  to  a  swift  despair. 
The  cross  that  I  have  given  thee  to  bear 
Presses  too   hard,   it  must  not  crush 

thee,  sweet, 

And  this  last  hour  of  sorrowful  defeat 
Must  be  forgotten  in  the  joys  we  share. 
So  much  is  won,  we  may  not  lose  the  rest; 
So  much  is  known,  we  may  not  start 

nor  shrink; 

If  there  be  poison  in  the  cup  we  drink 
Together,  surely  is  it  not  unblest, 
And  though  to  the  great  silence  we  depart 
I  shall  be  prisoner  within  thy  heart. 

[79] 


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